


winter's passing

by words_unravel



Category: Panic At The Disco, The Young Veins
Genre: M/M, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_unravel/pseuds/words_unravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>[<b>A/N:</b> Massive thanks to <i>provetheworst</i> for the beautiful banners on both the link for the fic and the one for the soundtrack. They're both absolutely gorgeous.]<br/>[<b>Warning(s):</b> non-graphic shapeshifting, shifting POVs]<br/>[<b>Prompt:</b> 2008 <i>drawn_to</i> challenge fic for <i>siren_mage</i>]<br/>[<b>Initial Beta:</b> <i>nova33</i>, <i>cloudlessclimes</i> and <i>spleenjournal</i>]<br/>[<b>Final Beta:</b> <i>rawiyaparand</i>, <i>universeunfold</i> and <i>angelgazing</i>]<br/>[<b>Soundtrack:</b> <i>spleenjournal</i> read the initial startup of this fic so I asked her to put together a mix to help me write it and omg, did she <i>ever</i>. I highly recommend you download it <a href="http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/7950.html">here</a> and listen while you read.]</p>
    </blockquote>





	winter's passing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siren_mage](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=siren_mage).



> [**A/N:** Massive thanks to _provetheworst_ for the beautiful banners on both the link for the fic and the one for the soundtrack. They're both absolutely gorgeous.]  
> [**Warning(s):** non-graphic shapeshifting, shifting POVs]  
> [**Prompt:** 2008 _drawn_to_ challenge fic for _siren_mage_]  
> [**Initial Beta:** _nova33_, _cloudlessclimes_ and _spleenjournal_]  
> [**Final Beta:** _rawiyaparand_, _universeunfold_ and _angelgazing_]  
> [**Soundtrack:** _spleenjournal_ read the initial startup of this fic so I asked her to put together a mix to help me write it and omg, did she _ever_. I highly recommend you download it [here](http://prettykitty-fic.livejournal.com/7950.html) and listen while you read.]

**Winter's Passing**

 

_The wolf isn't very big and its fur, black and shaggy, has become matted with dirt and debris. Huddled against the trunk of a fallen tree, they would have missed him if not for the yip he lets out as they passed. Even stranger, the horses don't startle at all; Ryan's mare shuffles toward the animal before he stops her. Dismounting through Spencer's protests, Ryan makes his way closer._

_Spencer doesn't want to stop and help, that much is evident. The sun is setting, the temperature dropping quickly and the shadow of an approaching storm can be seen in the distance. Ryan, however, is adamant. It's a senseless argument, and finally Spencer yells he's going home and if Ryan wants to lose a hand to a wild animal, then he'll have to do so alone._

_Ryan worries at his bottom lip, and watches Spencer disappear around the corner. Finally, he huffs out a muttered 'stubborn ass' and turns back to the problem at hand. He manages to lift the wolf and lay him across the saddle. The animal grumbles in discomfort, but otherwise stays still. Ryan's mare begins walking toward home unprompted and Ryan stumbles against her before picking up her lead._

_It's a little strange._

****

The wolf's eyes are blue.

A startling, brilliant blue Brendon can see even from twenty feet away, snow raging all around them. Brendon's sure he's never seen that before. Of course, he's never really been this close to a real live wolf before, either.

Jon's got the reins for both their horses twisted around one hand, the other on Brendon's elbow holding him back, "Brendon, I don't think-"

"He's _injured_, Jon," he gestures towards the splash of red staining the snow around one of the wolf's back legs. "We can't just leave him here. Now give me the blanket."

He gets a mumbled _freeze our asses off tonight_, but seconds later the gray wool blanket is in Brendon's hands, and he throws a grin over his shoulder before moving towards the injured animal. He keeps his eyes cast down, but always with the animal in the corner of his eye. No need to lose a limb.

When he's five feet away, he hears a low growling through the screaming wind. Within two feet he can see the slightly bared teeth, and god, he's so nervous now. The wolf is huge, nearly half Brendon's size and seriously, why did he think this was a good idea?

Apparently, Brendon's brain to mouth filter has shut off because he realizes that he's been babbling out loud. He glances up and the wolf is staring right at him. If Brendon didn't think it absolutely crazy, he'd swear the beast was laughing at him. He smiles wide and says, "Not so bad, huh, Blue?" But when Brendon moves his hand to get a better look at the wound, the animal snaps and Brendon ends up on his ass in the snow.

"Brendon!"

Jon's voice is full of fear and the horses react to it, already wary of the predator in their midst.

"I'm fine. My ass is cold, but it was to begin with, okay?" Brendon calls out to Jon, his eyes never straying from the injured wolf.

"Hey, now-" he says softly, "-just trying to help you out, all right?" Shifting slowly to his knees, Brendon continues talking nonsense, soft and low, until it flows into song, half-formed words and phrases, a lilting tune that used to sooth his nieces and nephews back home. He tenses for a moment as he goes to lay the blanket over the wolf and its head shifts. He's startled when all he gets is a pitiful whine and a quick lick across the top of his hand. He tucks the blanket firmly around the injured animal.

"Um, Jon?"

"Brendon, if I wasn't freezing _my_ ass off and knew for sure the wolf wouldn't eat you, I would love to see how you were going to lift it." There's amusement clear in Jon's voice, but it's closer, just behind Brendon now. When he looks back, past Jon, he can see their small sled; most of their belongings have been transferred and are now slung over the back of the horses. They'll both have to walk.

"You should've put the bags on my horse. You don't have to walk, too."

Jon ignores that, squats slowly behind him and says in a quiet voice, "You walk, I walk, Bren. No arguments." A gloved hand rests against the back of Brendon's neck and he wishes suddenly, fervently, that they were already at the inn, that he could feel Jon's warmth, bare, against his skin. It's only been three days, but he misses that heat, misses Jon's skin. Another low whine breaks his reverie and he looks down, meeting those surprising eyes again. Right. Get the wolf settled for travel and then get to someplace warm.

Jon is wary but the wolf gives them no trouble, just a pained rumble of noise as the two pick him up and secure him in place. The path is all but gone, the snow falling hard all around them. They trudge on, heads down against the wind, stopping occasionally to check on the wounded animal.

*

The sun is beginning to set and although Jon hasn't said a word, Brendon is fairly positive that they're lost. His suspicion is confirmed a short moment later when Jon stops, shoulders down. With the falling of the sun, the air is even colder now, sharper with each inhale.

"Jon-"

The wind whips his breath away and the sentence is lost. Brendon stops, unsure. He's already cost Jon so much, now his impulsive nature may have cost him his life, too. "Jon, I'm sorr-"

This time Brendon's words are cut short with a sudden howl from behind them. It's eerie, lost, sending a chill up Brendon's spine. From the corner of his eye, he sees Jon react as well. Oddly enough, the horses don't spook. Brendon's mare nudges his shoulder and steps forward, as if encouraging them to continue ahead. The wolf howls again and this time it's Jon's horse that moves ahead. They look at each other for a moment before Jon shrugs and follows the horses.

Not fifteen minutes later, Jon stops. His head is cocked to the side, listening. After a moment, Brendon hears it too: horse's hooves pounding the ground, the sound muffled by the layer of snow that's accumulated.

The third howl is less lost, almost joyful at the presence making its way towards them and Brendon can't help another shiver.

As the horse and its rider come around the corner, Brendon thinks irrationally, _is every beast around here huge?_

It's a black stallion, color stark against the blinding white of the surrounding storm. The rider pays them no mind, brushes past Brendon so close he can feel the animal's heated breath. As he turns to watch, the rider barely pauses, sliding off to land beside the travois. Brendon's not sure if it's stumble or not, but the man goes to his knees immediately, tearing the blanket away. Brendon starts at the fairly violent action, "Hey-!"

Their visitor gives no indication of hearing him, long fingers running over the animal's body. Brendon's about to warn him about sharp teeth and all, but his voice fails as the wolf begins licking their visitor's face. Jon's face mirrors his own astonishment.

"So stupid, you idiot. You're so stupid." His voice is flat, hardly any inflection, but Brendon can see the way his fingers tremble as they run through the fur behind the wolf's ears. The wolf does a weird yip and growl that Brendon would almost swear was disgruntled disagreement. It makes Brendon grin.

The wolf's head dips in his direction and suddenly he's staring into blue again, and before Brendon can think how weird this is, their visitor's gaze is settling toward him.

It's amber that makes his breath catch this time.

 

****

_The woolen blanket that Ryan had situated the night before as a bed of sorts lies empty the next morning. The kitchen door is unlatched, hanging open a sliver, and Spencer just snorts behind him and says 'good riddance'. Ryan thinks again about the strangeness of the whole situation, but Cook bustles in then, shooing them out of the kitchen and Ryan soon forgets the whole incident._

*

_Late that evening, Ryan's in search of some warm mead, hoping to calm an unease that has settled into his stomach, when he hears Spencer's voice. It's raised, definitely angry, but there's something else there as well and Ryan changes course toward the front door in curiosity. His pace quickens at the sound of a soft cry, at something, someone, hitting the ground._

_The first thing Ryan notices as he comes into the entryway is the shaggy black hair of a stranger, framed in the open door. But Spencer is on his knees, arms wrapped around his middle and curling forward in pain, and Ryan's attention is quickly diverted. For a blinding second, he doesn't breathe._

_He lands hard next to Spencer, barely noticing the pain, and shoves the stranger's hand away. A weird sensation flutters across his skin as skin touches skin, but he doesn't take the time to think about it._

_"Spencer." Ryan places his hand on a tensed shoulder, but Spencer only curls in tighter, releasing a low keening noise. It's a sound Ryan's never heard before and terror has him unable to move, barely breathe. Ryan's voice is a whisper, pleading, as he tries again, "Spencer, please-"_

_Spencer growls at him._

****

 

Although his body aches from travel and the day's unexpected activity, Jon can't sleep. The windows rattle with the force of the wind howling outside, and his mind returns to the events of earlier.

George Ryan Ross III is an odd one, rail thin and looking as if that wind outside Jon's window could rip him apart. But his hand, wrapped around Brendon's wrist when he'd gone to help carry the injured animal into the castle, was tight enough that Jon saw Brendon bite his lip in pain. The two of them had stood outside, in some kind of quiet argument until the wolf licked Ross' hand. It had been reluctant, but he'd allowed Brendon to help then.

They'd settled him in front of the fire and Brendon said quietly, "See? Not so bad at all, Blue." Jon watched Ross' shoulders tighten at Brendon's familiarity, watched as it worsened when the wolf nudged Brendon's hand in apparent gratitude. It made Brendon grin, a smile so wide that when he turned to look over at their host, Jon nearly laughed. At an obvious loss of words, Ross could only blink a few times before turning his attention back to the wolf.

Ross was awkward, Jon recalls, the conversation stilted as he focused on bandaging the injured animal. Brendon had tried to keep it going, talking to the wolf when there was too much space in between words.

There'd been one brief stutter in conversation, thankfully unnoticed, at Ross' half-handed question on why they were traveling at this time of year, when spring was a much better time. Jon remembers the look Brendon had sent him, remembers wanting to go to him, touch him. But then he always wants to touch Brendon.

It must have shown on his face because Brendon had turned away, quickly answering the question with a small white lie.

Ross had fed them, stored meats and breads brought into the sitting room, and then been kind enough to offer them a place to stay for the night. Afterwards, leading them down softly lit hallways, Jon noticed the quiet layers of dust over most of the interior. Brendon's curiosity had been piqued, Jon could tell, as he craned his neck to look down darkened halls. But Brendon held his tongue, biting his lip instead, and followed quietly.

Instead, Brendon had thrown a glance over his shoulder with an expression Jon couldn't quite read at that distance, and then stepped into his room, quietly closing the door behind him.

And now Jon can't sleep.

Brendon's face, that look, keeps playing over and over in his head. It tangles with Brendon's face the moment Ross' eyes had turned to him, and then it's traded for brilliant blue, then back to Brendon. The cycle repeats over and over until Jon wants to scream.

Instead, he rolls over, the pillow cool against his face as he tries once more to find sleep.

*

It's a lost cause and an hour later he slips out of bed and into the hallway. Finding his way back to the sitting room is easy; he just turns back every time he steps down a hallway that seems disused, dusty. The fire is still blazing and Jon steps near, grateful for the heat. A few minutes later, when Jon's eyes have gone unfocused, mesmerized by the leap of the flames, a rustle of cloth startles him. He spins around, the flare of red and orange blinding him to the dark corners of the room. His hand goes to the mantle in an attempt to steady himself.

There's a figure sitting away from fire, in one of the farther corners, and even though he knows it's not, a "Ross?" slips from Jon's tongue.

"Ryan has lost himself in reading, a normal occurrence at this hour. You're-" the stranger hesitates, "-Jonathan, right?"

"Just Jon, really." He steps forward, curious. "I'm sorry, Ross didn't say anything about another guest-"

The stranger snorts, "Of course he didn't. This is actually my family home, but Ryan tends to forget that fact as we rarely have visitors." There's a small pause before he continues. "Ryan is a little-" Jon can hear the smile, the affection in his voice, "-absent-minded at the best of times. And not the most social person, which I'm sure you'll find hard to believe." His tone is dry and definitely amused.

Jon flashes to earlier, to Ryan's obvious discomfort, and he does want to laugh. However, Ryan did offer them a place to stay even with his worry over the wolf. Which, Jon thinks, he should check on.

Jon makes a move away from the fireplace, "The wolf-?"

"He's fine." The words startle Jon with their abruptness. "Ryan checked on him before heading to bed, said everything was good and that he just need some, ah-" there's something in his voice Jon can't decipher, "-rest."

"Oh." Jon's not sure what to do. He's still not sleepy, but he hadn't meant to intrude either. "I should head back to bed then." Jon can hear the reluctance in his voice.

Apparently their host does too, and asks hesitantly, "Well, if you don't mind keeping me company, I'd like to hear about your travels." He motions to a duvet a few feet away, "You're not from around here, correct? Ryan said you had quite a bit of gear-?"

"No! No, we're from a village in the southwest province?" He settles on the couch. It's not entirely a lie and definitely not the first time Jon has told someone that, but for the first time he feels a little guilty and it's a bit disconcerting.

"Oh, I've heard the summers there are beautiful!" There's a flash of white teeth and Jon finally takes a good look at his companion. It's still too dark to really see much, but Jon gets an impression of pale, pale skin and a face that still holds the rounded cheeks of youth. Both masters of the house are young, really young, Jon realizes, and all alone in this huge place.

It seems like he and Brendon aren't the only two who've had to grow up fast.

"You've never been?" Jon holds his breath, still a bit wary.

"Unfortunately, no, I've never had the chance," Once again, there's that tinge of _something_, "but Ryan has some books about the area. In fact-"

Jon lets his breath loose and settles back to listen.

*

"Your friend is awake."

The words are sudden, interrupting Jon's thoughts. He startles at the intrusion, lost in the flames and a comfortable silence. Tilting his head, Jon listens but there's nothing but the crackle of the fire and he knows Brendon is hard pressed to move silently. The edges of his mouth tilt up at a memory.

His companion rises from his seat and Jon can finally see that their host is tall and broad at the shoulder. He's holding himself stiff as if in pain, but before Jon can ask, he's turning away with a quiet, "He's looking for you. You should go to him."

Jon can only stare after him, puzzled. There's something about the way he's walking. _He's limping_, Jon notes, _injured, just like-_

"Jon?"

Apparently Brendon _can_ move quietly. He turns to find Brendon standing behind him. The firelight flickers across Brendon's face and Jon can't help but smile at pillow creases on his cheek, the way his hair is mussed from sleep. Stepping in close, Jon cups his hands around Brendon's shoulders. One hand slides up until it's resting on the curve of his neck. Brendon just hums sleepily at the sweep of Jon's thumb along his jaw, eyes closing.

"Back to bed then?" Another hum accompanied by a nod. Jon leads the way, Brendon's hand firmly in his. He only looks back once.

*

Jon realizes as he's about to fall asleep, Brendon curled against his side, that he never asked for a name. It had been so easy, conversation flowing and the intermittent silences unstrained.

It reminds him of Brendon.

 

****

_When Ryan wakes, he finds Spencer at the foot of his bed. He's wrapped in his mother's wedding quilt, fingers nearly white with tension as he holds it close around him. His eyes are closed and Ryan just stares, helpless, at the shadows underneath. Although the blanket covers him, Ryan knows with certainty that his friend is naked beneath it. _

_"I can smell you."_

_Startled, Ryan jerks upright, "Spencer-"_

_"I can **smell** you, Ryan. I can smell-" his nostrils flare, "your fear." His voice cracks on that last word and Ryan forgets everything and scrambles down the bed, fighting the stupid covers and wraps his arms around Spencer._

_They'd buried Spencer's parents yesterday and he'd never shed a tear, but Ryan can feel them now as they slide down his neck and run across his heart._

_He holds on tighter._

****

 

Jon wakes the next morning to blinding brightness and a cold, empty spot next to him. Looking out the window, snow blankets everything as far as the eye can see. Jon's fingers practically itch with the need to capture the breathtaking beauty spread out before him, and not for the first time he wishes he had a talent for painting. With a sigh, he turns and gets dressed, heading downstairs in search of Brendon.

*

He finds them by the sound of a piano, slightly out of tune, and Brendon's enthusiastic chatter. Stopping in the doorway, he just watches as Brendon continues to talk while his hands fly over the keys. Ryan stands facing Jon, but he seems helplessly enthralled at all the words and movement before him. A few moments later, almost as if he senses him there, Ryan looks over. Brendon continues to talk, unaware of Jon's presence. Ryan looks a little lost and Jon can't help the laugh that escapes. It's a feeling he knows well.

"Jon!" Brendon's smile widens, and he pats the seat next to him, "Jon, come and see. Ryan has a piano!" A jaunty melody rolls out from under his fingers and for a second Jon sees him in another room, with another piano. His step falters. It wasn't that long ago, a few weeks maybe.

"Jon?" The music stops.

He snaps out of it, to see both Brendon and Ryan looking at him, one with concern and the other with reluctant curiosity. He pushes the thoughts away and smiles, "It's quite grand, this piano."

Brendon groans at the horrible pun and begins playing again, "No bad jokes before noon, Jonathan Jacob Walker, Ryan Ross' piano demands it, as do I."

That reminds Jon of last night, "Or does it belong to our other host?"

Ryan looks at him sharply, "You saw Spencer?"

Jon can see Ryan's' knuckles whiten against the stark black of the piano and Brendon looks at him, surprised. "I forgot to ask his name at the time, but yes, we spoke last night." Jon hesitates, a flash of Spencer limping away in his head, "I, ah, was going to ask if he's okay? He seemed to be in a bit of pain-"

Ryan pushes away from the piano, interrupting Jon with a fierce, "He's _fine_. " He stumbles back a step, as if he's startled at his own vehemence. After a moment of silence, he mumbles a few words about seeing to the horses and practically runs from the room. Brendon scrambles off the piano bench, sending Jon a puzzled look over his shoulder as he disappears after Ryan. Jon can hear his "I'll help!" fade out down the hallway.

Jon is left alone in the room. Again. With a sigh, he goes to look for the kitchen.

*

There's bacon sizzling in a cast-iron skillet when Jon feels someone watching him. He glances over his shoulder and from the corner of his eye there's the wolf. It's sitting in the doorway to the dining room, still, attention focused. Bringing his shoulder further around, Jon leans a hip against the cabinet and studies the animal more closely. Jon's not seen one quite so big before; the few around his village had been smaller, scrawny and usually dirty. This one stands nearly as tall as a wolfhound, coat pale brown and shot through with gold and black. And those eyes, bluer than Jon's ever seen, blue like summer sky. _ Unnatural_, something whispers in his head. Mentally rolling his eyes at himself, Jon turns back toward the stove, intent on finishing breakfast before the other two return.

"Hope you like bacon, Blue." The name slips out without thought and the wolf responds with a short bark, startling Jon into dropping a piece of bacon. Grease splatters lightly across his arm.

"Fuck!"

The wolf huffs out a breath and Jon looks over his shoulder again, swearing the animal's laughing at him.

"Think that's funny do you?" He grins and turns back to the food, "Well then, no bacon for you, buddy."

Jon can hear the clack of toenails on the stone floor and a second later there's the brush of a nose against the leg of his pants. When he looks down, the wolf is sitting next to him, blue eyes direct. Jon wonders briefly if the animal is trying to read his mind, push its own thoughts into Jon's brain, or just amused at his expense. Blue's mouth opens, pink tongue lolling out and the edges of its mouth curling up a bit.

_Definitely_ laughing at him then.

Shaking his head, Jon flips the rest of the bacon. After a few seconds, the wolf whines and steps on his foot. He ignores it.

When he starts whisking the eggs, Blue steps on his foot again. A sharp yipping sound accompanies this, faintly reproachful.

Jon just adds two more eggs to the bowl.

A sharp tug at his pants comes a few minutes later, along with a low disgruntled growl, and Jon can't help laughing out, "Fine, fine! I take it back, you can have some bacon!"

Jon can feel the ridiculous smile on his face and as he looks down, the wolf's staring back up at him, tongue still hanging out and looking for all the world like he's grinning right back. Jon laughs again when the wolf puts both paws, one still bandaged, on his foot this time, "You have to let me cook in peace or no one's going to get anything as it'll all be burned to a crisp-"

"Jon?"

They both turn at the same time, a synchronized swivel of heads.

Brendon had called his name, but it's Ryan that Jon's gaze falls upon. His cheeks are red from the cold and Jon absently notes the slight swirl of snow blowing in from the open door. Ryan's eyes, however, are only for the wolf. The look in them is one that Jon can't decipher. Hurt? Or jealousy? He feels as though an apology is in order, but for what exactly, he doesn't know.

There's a moment, a split second where Jon feels Blue lean against him, where his fingers brush fur before the wolf moves away. Blue tucks his head under Ross' hand, whines and then licks at those ridiculously long fingers. Ross drops to his knees, runs both hands over the wolf's head and down his sides, touch gentle but firm. He leans in closer and says something, too soft for Jon to hear. His own throat feels tight.

He turns back to the stove and Brendon joins him, bumping his shoulder and sending him a soft smile. A few minutes later, Brendon begins telling him how Clover had been 'most displeased, Jon' that he hadn't come to visit her. When Jon looks back over his shoulder, Ryan is sitting on a nearby bench, a hand still curled in the thick fur of Blue's neck. They both watch, silent, as Brendon's voice fills the air.

When Jon smiles though, the corners of Ryan's mouth tilt up in response.

 

****

_The first few weeks pass in a blur of sleeplessness - human Spencer haunting the halls at all hours of the night, then disappearing on the grounds during the day in wolf form. _

_After that first morning, he's begun pushing Ryan away. Ryan can only watch helplessly as Spencer continues to withdraw from him. Harsh words, cold shoulders and slammed doors, Ryan steadfastly ignores them all._

_A note arrives from his father, asking about his return but Ryan burns it before Spencer can read it. Another comes a few days later and this one he's unable to keep from Spencer. Instead of another scathing retort, Spencer just tells him quietly that he should go. Ryan knows he's remembering that last night with his own parents, the angry exchange of words._

_Ryan promises to return, but Spencer just walks away._

*

_A few days later, as Ryan rides around one of the last turns back to Spencer's, S'injun halts abruptly with an irritated toss of his head. The wolf stands there in the middle of the road, and if Ryan had to say, he looks startled._

_Exasperated, Ryan says, "I told you I'd be back, you idiot."_

_The wolf huffs at him and Ryan can't help but smile at that. Spencer's still the same, wolf form or not. "Race you back-" he kicks his heels in, "-loser cooks dinner."_

_He loses sight of Spencer in the forest. But as he thunders around the last curve, he's already there, waiting at the door with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth and panting. He yips at Ryan as he slides down off his horse. It's followed by a series of grumbling noises, as if he's talking to Ryan._

_"I know, I know," Ryan mumbles, "You want pancakes, sheesh."_

*

_Ryan burns dinner that night, but Spencer still eats it. Ryan does get better at it, eventually._

****

 

The marble floor is freezing, same as every night before, and Brendon wishes he'd remember to put on socks before sneaking down the hallway to Jon's room. His hand is on the doorknob when the sound of raised voices causes him to pause.

He recognizes Ryan's voice, but the other is unfamiliar. With a start, he realizes that it must be Spencer Smith, their ever-elusive other host. Okay, elusive to Brendon since he's yet to actually meet him. Jon, on the other hand, has managed to speak with Spencer several times over the last week. Brendon's feeling a little disgruntled at the whole situation, especially since Spencer manages to disappear every time Brendon comes around. A sharp _Dammit, Ryan_ echoes down the hall and Brendon's hand falls away from the door.

He follows the voices.

*

Through the crack in the door he watches Ryan pace the small room. Spencer stands with his back to Brendon, and even from the doorway Brendon can see the tension in the long line of his body, the tightness in his shoulders.

"Spencer-"

"I said no, Ryan, why can't you get it through your stubborn skull? How many times have I told you to let it be?" Spencer's voice is even but strained. He feels a bit guilty, but Brendon likes the color in Ryan's cheeks, the flash in his eyes, the emotion that crosses Ryan's face. And when Ryan suddenly steps in close to Spencer, the look on his face makes Brendon's breath catch.

"What about," Ryan hesitates, swallowing hard, and Brendon watches the line of his throat. "What about like them, Spence? You've seen Brendon coming from Jon's room-"

Brendon misses Spencer's reaction, too startled by Ryan's words. He's been so careful, Brendon thinks, always slipping back into his room before the sun rises. There'd been one morning, yes, when he'd turned from Jon's door to meet Blue's startling eyes, but that's it.

But they _know_ and all Brendon can think now is how they're going to have to go away again. They fit here, so much more than any place they've been before.

He doesn't _want_ to leave, doesn't want to tell Jon why they can't stay.

Spencer turns his head, profile sharp against the light of the room and Brendon worries that he's done that thing, saying everything aloud that he's thinking. Brendon's heartbeat is loud in his ears; he wonders absently if Ryan and Spencer can hear it. There's a questioning noise from Ryan, his eyes intent on Spencer.

Spencer lifts his chin, nostril flaring and Ryan asks, "What is it, Spence?"

When Spencer shifts, moving to turn around, Brendon stumbles away from the door. He flees, his name following down the hallway.

*

Without hesitation, Brendon slides into Jon's room, remembering at the last second not to slam the door. Jon sits up in bed immediately, "Brendon? What's wrong?"

He leans back against the door, heart still racing and tries to catch his breath. He wants to tell Jon that Ryan and Spencer know about the two of them and what it means for them, but as he pushes off the door and crawls under the covers toward Jon's warmth, "Spencer's really pretty, isn't he?" slips out instead.

Laughing, Jon settles back down on the bed. "Spencer? I suppose so; it's usually dark when we're talking. You know, with the whole light sensitivity thing." Ryan had been quick to let them know the reason Spencer spent nights like most people spent their days.

"Why, did you finally meet him?" A calloused hand slides up Brendon's side, firm and warm against his skin.

"Not, um, exactly," Brendon fusses a bit until Jon pulls him in close. "I found him and Ryan arguing."

"Oh?" Jon's voice is slurring now, tinged with sleep. "Well, that's bound to happen when you've known each other for as long as they have." Brendon just nods, cheek against Jon's chest. A few minutes later, Jon's breath evens out.

He'll wait then, and let Ryan or Spencer make the first move.

 

****

_Spencer refuses to tell him what the dark-haired stranger said that night. Ryan tries again and again to get some answers, but for the first time in their entire friendship Spencer lies, straight to his face. _

_"Nothing, Ryan."_

_"That's bullshit and you know it, Spence. He had to say **something**, anything. How long is it supposed to last? How do we break it-"_

_"**We** don't, Ryan, it's not your cross to bear. It's nothing to **do** with you. In fact, you should go home, I don't need you to babysit me." The words are cold but insistent and Ryan has never wanted to punch his friend in the face as bad as he does at that moment._

_"You're my best friend, Spencer, and if I thought you believed anything you just said to me," he steps in close, staring hard at Spencer, "I'd leave you to this."_

_Spencer looks away first._

_It's not the last time they argue, but it's the last time Spencer mentions Ryan leaving._

****

 

The next day Brendon avoids Ryan. This turns out to be easy, as Ryan is trying just as hard to avoid him. Jon watches them, curious but silent.

*

Another storm passes through, keeping them inside. Brendon finds the library and spends an hour perusing the shelves. It's an eclectic collection, ranging from tawdry romances to scientific tomes wider than his hand. Brendon's singing quietly to himself, a nonsense tune made of passing titles, authors, and other random words, when he feels something cold brush his hand.

Brendon looks down in surprise to find Blue sitting there, watching him. A second later the wolf licks his hand, rumbles a few odd noises at Brendon and finally whines. Crouching down, Brendon runs a tentative hand over the fur of Blue's neck. At this level, the wolf stands eye to eye with Brendon and it's a bit disconcerting. The wolf's eyes really _are_ an astonishing shade of blue. He whines again and Brendon can't help it. If Jon can talk to the wolf without feeling like an idiot, so can he, "What is it, Blue, you bored too?"

"He wants you to keep singing." Brendon startles enough at Ryan's monotone that he nearly falls over, fingers clutching in fur.

"What?"

"He wants you to sing, he-" Ryan's not looking at him, but staring at Blue instead. The wolf's looking straight back, "-your voice, he, ah, likes it - likes it when you sing. So." Brendon's eyebrows rise; it's the first time they've exchanged words in nearly two days.

Before Brendon can respond Ryan turns away, leaving the doorway empty and Brendon confused. He's still staring at the empty door when Blue licks him. Brendon can feel slobber trickle into his ear.

"God, Blue, that's disgusting!" Another lick and Brendon pushes the wolf's snout away with a laugh, "Stop it! Ugh!"

A second later Brendon's flat on the floor, laughing as Blue attempts to cover his face with his drool. Brendon tries half-heartedly to protect himself, "Aaaaagh, stop it!"

Jon finds them then, totally unhelpful as he holds Brendon's hands to the floor and ruthlessly attacks each of Brendon's most ticklish spots. Blue takes complete advantage of having an ally and Brendon can barely breathe from laughing so hard.

 

*

The new snowfall leaves everything crisp, clean, and Brendon breathes it in. They're making their way back to the chateau, Ryan leading, Brendon and Jon behind him. Brendon watches as Ryan's stick figure flounders in the thick fall of snow. Blue doesn't seem to have any trouble, running ahead of them and then doubling back. Brendon envies the seeming effortlessness.

The splat of wet, slushy snow against the back of his head is unexpected.

"Hey!"

Jon's in the middle of patting another snowball together when Brendon turns around. Blue barks, delighted, and even Ryan lets out a laugh. It echoes around them and Brendon watches Jon smile at the sound, eyes crinkling at the edges.

Brushing past Brendon, Blue jumps up at Jon, nipping at the hand filled with snow. Jon pulls it away with a laugh. Blue turns and runs back toward Brendon with another bark. Jon lifts his arm while Blue runs around Brendon's legs; Brendon raises a protesting hand, "No. Jon, _no_, don't you da-"

He ends up with a mouthful of snow and Ryan's laughter rings even louder. He can only sputter as Jon says to Ryan, "Well, looks like we finally found a way to get Brendon quiet."

"Temporary, Jon, he's incapable of staying that way for long, I'm fairly sure." There's a moment of stunned silence before Jon bursts out laughing. Brendon wants to shout, grab Ryan and hug him, kiss Jon.

Instead, he makes a protesting sound, and turns a ridiculously pouty face to Ryan, "Who would serenade you with your morning tune, Ryan Ross? What then?"

Ryan just stares at Brendon for a moment, then smirks, "I don't know, Jon has a pretty nice voice."

Seriously, hugs are definitely in order."Now that's just mean, Ross, meanmeanmean."

Apparently Blue is in agreement because two seconds later, Blue clips the back of his knees and Ryan is on his ass in the snow. He sits there, stunned, before tossing a handful of snow in Blue's direction. The wolf side steps easily and huffs back.

With Ryan and Jon's laughter around him, Brendon is sure this is what home feels like.

*

The moon is full, high in the night sky. The curtains, drawn back, allow the pale silver light reflected off the snow to paint every inch of the room.

Jon's fingers trace low across Brendon's back, brushing the bottom edge of the scars that make it that far down. They're long-healed, but sometimes Brendon can feel the whisper of the whip in his mind.

Almost as if he knows what's going through Brendon's head, Jon asks, "Do you miss them?"

Jon's voice is quiet in the darkness, hesitant. Brendon curls in tighter against him and whispers, "I miss the thought of them, what they used to be before I-"

_broke their hearts_

"-became someone they couldn't love."

Jon's hand tightens against his skin, bringing Brendon impossibly closer until all he can smell, all he can feel is Jon. Against the skin of Jon's shoulder he says, "Now ask me if I ever regret leaving, Jon Walker."

There's a moment's hesitation before-

"Do you ever-"

"No- " Brendon slides a leg between Jon's and feels him arch up into the touch, "-no, I don't."

There isn't anything, Brendon thinks, that will ever make him regret this. He can live with that.

 

****

_It's almost a year before Ryan actually sees Spencer change. _

_They're in the sitting room, Ryan regaling Spencer with Sir Beckett's latest outrageous public flirtation with the town smith's wife, Greta, "Seriously, Spencer, I swear Morris was half a tick away from dumping William headfirst into the cooling barrel-" when Spencer doubles forward with a gasp._

_"Spencer?" Ryan reaches a hand out, but his friend jerks away and stumbles to his feet. "Spence, what is it?"_

_"You need to go, Ryan." He can hear Spencer's breath quickening, hear the pain lacing the words. Ryan reaches out again, only to be cut off with a rough, "**Now**." Spencer drops to his knees, curling in on himself in a way that's all too familiar._

_Ryan swallows hard and considers it, walking out the door while Spencer shifts into another form. He's never really seen it happen; watching would make it real in a way he's never let himself contemplate._

_There's really no choice, though, and he slides down in front of Spencer._

_"I won't-" he curls his hands tight around Spencer's shoulders, feels the skin give under his nails, "I'm not leaving, Spencer."_

_Skin and bone shift under his palms, but Ryan doesn't move. He watches pain and fear swirl through blue eyes, but he glimpses something else. And as the wolf, fully formed, tucks his head under Ryan's chin, he lets himself call it hope._

****

 

There's a bay window in the music room. It's one of the most sought after seats in the entire chateau. Even the wolf, on occasion, has snapped at someone attempting to take his place on the blue cushion there.

The spot is open when Jon wanders into the room one afternoon and he sits down. The place is quiet today, more so than normal and Jon thinks he should go look for Brendon. Ryan will show up when he remembers his guests. Jon laughs at how Ryan's face is always a little shocked whenever he or Brendon catches him unawares. Spencer, of course, is asleep in the far wing.

Just then a sharp bark draws his attention out the window where Brendon and Blue are playing in the snow. Another figure steps into the frame and Jon is surprised to see Ryan. Ryan is, well. He's as much an enigma as Spencer. More so, in the fact that at least Spencer is very forward when you speak with him. It's not until Brendon's playing the piano that Jon gets a glimpse of what Ryan hides behind his books and silence.

Almost as if he can sense Jon's thought, Ryan looks up at the window. He smiles, raising a hand in greeting. Jon can feel his face crease in a wide grin - maybe not so hidden after all - and raises a hand to wave back.

A snow ball whizzes past Ryan's head and his attention is immediately diverted into dodging further attacks. All three disappear around the corner.

After a while, Jon feels his eyes grow heavy. A few minutes later, he's fast asleep.

*

He wakes to Ryan sitting near his feet, journal in his hands. When Jon shifts, Ryan looks up, his pencil stilling. A small smile accompanies his "Good nap?"

Jon pushes up, noticing the blanket draped over him for the first time. He twists his fingers in it absentmindedly and smiles back at Ryan. "Mmmhmm. Have fun outside?"

Ryan grimaces but Jon can see the smile at the edge of it, "Brendon is very, ah, energetic."

Jon laughs and Ryan finally smiles fully. "But it's good for-" there's the slight hesitation that Ryan has before he always says, "-Blue." It makes Jon wonder, for perhaps the millionth time, what exactly Ryan called the wolf before they came.

Jon just hums in agreement again. Sitting forward, he nudges Ryan's shoulder with his own, nods down at the book in Ryan's lap, "Anything good?"

Ryan looks down at his hands like he'd forgotten it was there, "Oh! I don't. Maybe?" He acts like he wants to show Jon, but aborts the motion.

"You could-" Ryan looks down at the journal again and seems to make a decision, turning to face Jon more fully. He hands the journal to Jon, "-you can look if you'd like?" It's tentative, almost wary.

Jon smiles at Ryan again which seems to relax him a bit. He can feel Ryan's eyes on him as he flips through it. He randomly catches phrases _spun the world on her fingernails_, _a wonderful caricature of intimacy_. From the corner of his eye he can see Ryan's hand twisting in the blanket near Jon's leg. He rests his own hand atop Ryan's, stilling the nervous movement and continues reading.

Jon finishes one page, only to flip to another and then another. There's an ebb and flow from beginning to end, the first lines harsher and pointed _forked tongues selling false sermons_, the further back, more fantastical, more image-rich feathers everywhere. He can see exactly when they appeared at the chateau _the piano knows something I don't know_, nearly blushing at the _little deaths in musical beds_.

Jon comes to the last page, the words Ryan was working on as he slept _it looks like the end of history as we know it_ he can't help but ask, "Does he know?"

Jon doesn't look up, but Ryan's hand tenses under his.

_back to the street where we began_

"Ryan? Does Spencer know how you feel?"

"I don't-Spencer's my best friend, Jon, he knows I care about him."

_back to the room where it all began_

"Yeah, but does he know you're in love with him?"

"That's-" Ryan stands up, reaching for his journal, "-We're not like you. Not like you and Brendon, we're _not_." It hurts Jon more than he'd like to admit, the tone of Ryan's voice. It makes him want to lash out, just a little. He grabs Ryan's wrist and tugs, catching Ryan unaware. Ryan stumbles, catching himself on the seat with a knee.

Ryan's eyes are panic-wide and desperate. His face is really, really close to Jon's.

"Wouldn't you like to be, Ryan, _feeling as good as lovers can you know_?" Jon doesn't know why he's pushing. Doesn't know exactly why he looks down at Ryan's mouth. They're so damn close.

Ryan's voice is ragged, "Jon-"

Blue suddenly flies through the doorway, dragging his dirty blanket. Brendon's quick to follow, stumbling through the doorway with a laughing shout, "Blue! Come back here!"

The wolf slides to a stop in front of the bay window, Ryan having pulled immediately away when the ruckus started. Jon looks at Blue, whose head is tilted. He's studying Jon with those wicked blue eyes and Jon would swear the animal knows what nearly happened.

Brendon launches himself at the piano and begins playing a rousing, fast-paced tune. Ryan, not looking back, strides over to join him. Blue just continues to stare at Jon. He must see the confusion in Jon's eyes because a moment later, he whines and steps close to the seat. He tucks his head near Jon's hand and whines sympathetically.

Jon doesn't know what the hell is going on anymore.

*

"Why haven't you spoken with Brendon?"

Jon watches Spencer turn his face way in the dark corner of the room, "It's been nearly a month and you've yet to meet him. Did he offend you in any way?" Brendon's a little overwhelming at times, Jon knows.

"God, no, Jon. No, that's-" Spencer's struggling for words.

"Blue really likes him, " Jon interjects, without knowing why.

Spencer huffs, "Yeah, I know." There's something in Spencer's voice, but Jon can't decipher it.

"Then what is it, why haven't you talked to him?" Jon is starting to hate the look that Brendon gets on his face every time he starts a sentence with 'Spencer says-'.

"No. No, it's just-" Jon can hear the hesitation. "Someone hurt him."

Jon stiffens.

"Shit, not _you_, Jon. Someone, someone else. Someone he knew, right?" Jon doesn't know what to say to that. Brendon's past isn't his story to tell and he's debating how much to say when a voice answers for him.

"My father whipped me after he caught Jon and me asleep together in the loft one afternoon." Brendon's voice is quiet in the half darkness, but carries perfectly over the tiled floor.

Jon's grip on the arms of his chair tightens until his knuckles protest. He can feel his teeth grind together. Spencer listens in silence, and although the room is dark, Jon knows he's staring right at Brendon.

"My family is very religious; he thought he could beat the sickness out of me." Brendon laughs mirthlessly. "It didn't work the first time. Nor the second or third."

Jon's fingers start to ache, "Brendon-"

"Jon hates it when I defend them, you know." His voice is closer now, right behind Jon. "But they were only doing what they thought was right for me." Brendon rests his fingertips against the top of Jon's hand, soothingly.

"Bullshit."

Spencer's voice is rough and Jon's gaze jerks away from Brendon's face. "Bullshit, " Spencer repeats, voice low, nearly a growl. Jon can see his eyes flash blue in the light of the fire, "Love doesn't justify treating your son like-"

"Spencer, stop it."

Ryan stands like a thin shadow in the doorway.

It's like some clichéd tableau, Jon thinks absently, all the players gathered for a grand revealing. Instead, Ryan just says, "Let it go, Spence, " his voice tired. Jon watches them stare at each other. Spencer looks away first. Ryan sighs then and turns from the room, disappearing into the darkness. Jon can feel Brendon, curious but unwilling to ask. Silence settles over the room.

Later, Jon wonders how, Spencer, who always, _always_ knows when someone is coming, let both Brendon and Ryan slip in unnoticed.

 

****

_The skies are intent on drowning everything the day they put Ryan's father into the ground._

_Ryan can't help but think that it's a little too late, that the liquor got there first and he chokes back a cough of laughter. It isn't a pretty sound. Several people from town glare at him and the priest looks over as well, but continues._

_As they lower the casket, Ryan tosses his rain-battered flower down and thinks, _I will never be that weak._ He looks over and the wolf is there, shadowed by the edge of the forest. Ryan tries not to think about how those words sounds like a plea, even in his own head._

_When he gets back to the chateau, Spencer's waiting at the door. He's in human form, and Ryan knows that the change back was too soon, that Spencer will pay for it later. But he can't really be sorry, not when solid, strong arms wrap around him. Spencer's grown in the last year, broadened across the shoulders. The wolf stands nearly at Ryan's waist these days._

_Maybe it can be strong enough for the both of them._

****

 

Ryan stands in the shadow of the door, watching Brendon tuck a blanket around Spencer's sleeping form. Brendon traces a finger across Spencer's brow, smoothing the hair behind his ear and Spencer's eyes flutter. Ryan holds his breath. Brendon sits on the floor across from Spencer's chair, his back against the couch. His head rests against the arm of the sofa and he watches Spencer sleep. He's quiet, more still than Ryan's seen him since they arrived. It's a bit unsettling.

A movement catches at the corner of his vision. Turning, he sees Jon standing there, watching him. They stare at each other until Ryan can't take it, and shifts his gaze back to the scene in the parlor. Brendon hasn't moved at all.

Brendon's too still, Spencer's too exhausted, Jon's too close and Ryan has no idea where his calm little world has gone. He stumbles away into the darkness. It's not fair, he and Spencer have spent years settling into a semblance of normality and these two strangers - _not strangers_ whispers through his mind - have intruded into that.

*

Jon is messing around with an old guitar Brendon found abandoned in an old linen closet. Tuned and oiled, it's found its way into Jon's hands more often than not this week. Ryan sits at the desk, writing. Jon keeps glancing over, but Ryan's attention is for nothing but the journal in front of him.

A shout of laughter pulls Jon's attention out the window in time to see Brendon dash by, Blue close on his heels. Jon watches them disappear around the end of the chateau, the corners of his mouth edging down.

"He's getting too thin," Jon mutters. It's not the first time he's voiced his concern over Blue's waning weight, but Spencer dismisses it each time with a hand wave and 'winter weather'. Standard or not, Jon can still count Blue's ribs from the window.

"Spencer hasn't been eating well lately." Ryan's voice is off-handed and unfocused. He's not really paying attention, Jon knows.

Jon looks up, about to correct Ryan but pauses. Spencer _has_ been getting thinner. He watches Ryan, listens to the scratch of pencil across paper. A frown creases Ryan's brow and he scribbles out a couple of words, replacing them with something that brings a faint curve to his lips.

Jon looks back out the window, fingers tripping across guitar strings and thinks.

*

"Wait, wait, play that again."

Jon looks up, startled out of his thoughts. Ryan is staring at him, at his hands. When Jon doesn't respond, Ryan slides his chair back and walks over to him. "Please-"

"It's just something I was playing around with, Ryan, it's nothing solid. Actually, I was thinking of changing the bridge-"

"No!" Ryan looks embarrassed at his exclamation, but doesn't take it back. "You should leave it be. The way it is now, it's-" Ryan looks away, a faint blush stealing over his cheeks. Jon continues playing, curious.

Ryan stands abruptly, before Jon can respond. He doesn't move more than a couple of steps away before turning back. Jon watches Ryan's fingers, those long, slender digits stained with ink, fidget against the houndstooth pattern of his pants.

"Ryan?"

"I'm sorry for the other day. I had no right to speak to you like that." Ryan's gaze is fixed on Jon's hands, still absentmindedly moving across strings. Jon stops, keeping quiet, but Ryan refuses to look up. The silence stretches out until Ryan says abruptly, "Brendon's spending a lot of time with Spencer lately."

The words aren't accusing or angry, but Jon can't quite determine the underlying emotion. He's about to ask if that's a problem when Ryan beats him to it. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"Why?" Jon tilts his head to the side, studying Ryan, "Does it bother you?"

"No," he shakes his head, "no, of course not. I'm glad, actually." Ryan sits next to Jon, seemingly poised for flight at the edge of the cushion. Once again the silence slides around them. Jon breaks it this time, reaching out to lay a hand gently on Ryan's shoulder, "You're worried about Spence, right? Do you know why he isn't eating well?"

There's no answer and Jon tightens his fingers a little, "Ryan?"

"I don't know." There's a pause, Ryan turning his face away, but leaning into Jon's touch a little more. "He's not sleeping much anymore either."

"Do you have any idea what could be wrong? Any idea at all?" Ryan shakes his head and Jon does his best not to notice his fingertips sliding into soft curls. He can feel the movement when Ryan swallows hard, the reverberation against his thumb when Ryan says, "He's not talking to me, spends all his time with Brendon." Ryan finally looks up at Jon, "Or you. But he won't talk to me. He hasn't really hidden anything from me in years, but now-" a shoulder shrug, "-he refuses to tell me what's wrong."

"Ryan-," Jon pauses, uncertain, "Spencer and the wolf, Ryan, maybe-"

"Will you play it again, that melody?" Ryan interrupts, a quiet desperation underneath the monotone. Jon's hand tightens, and he slides a thumb across Ryan's coarse cheek. Ryan settles into the touch once again, but his body is strung tight, rigid with tension.

His voice is so soft, Jon barely catches it.

_"Please."_

 

****

_Keltie is sunshine and laughter with gold hair and long, slender limbs. Ryan doesn't know exactly what to do, he's never met anyone like her before._

_"You'll always choose him, Ryan. You can't not." The words aren't even accusing, only matter-of-fact and a little sad. He doesn't know what to say, really, "I'm sorry, it's...complicated." That's a massive understatement, but the truth, which he knows she appreciates._

_"Love always is, Ryan." Keltie smiles up at him and he can see the sheen in her eyes. His throat tightens at her words._

_"I promised him, Kelts, I promised I wouldn't leave him there alone. That's all, I can't break my word." She tilts her head to the side and he wonders if she can hear how hard he's trying to convince the both of them._

_The carriage horses are becoming restless, Ryan can hear their hooves shuffle in the dirt but he can't look away from Keltie's wide brown eyes, the slight disappointment he can see there._

_"Keltie-"_

_She throws her arms are his neck, interrupting him. The words are muffled and choked with tears, but he hears them, hears her whispered _ I wish you happiness, Ryan Ross_. A quick kiss to his cheek and she's gone, the carriage door shut before he can reply._

_A lonely howl echoes across the air as he watches her carriage disappear down the road._

****

 

There's a crispness to the air that Brendon finds beautiful, and he wishes that he could show it to Spencer. He notices a spot of green further up the hill and makes his way closer, excited at the prospect of a hint of warmer weather.

Brendon stills suddenly, he can feel eyes on him but they don't feel like Blue. Turning his head slowly toward the tree line, he sees it - a mountain lion, less than fifteen feet away. Its amber eyes, so similar to Ryan's, are dark.

Hungry.

She's bone thin, but Brendon can see the muscles shift under the skin. They stare at each other and Brendon can barely breathe. From the corner of his eye, he sees the thin sliver of white misting in the air, proof that he is still breathing. He can feel his heart crashing against his chest and wonders vaguely if she can hear it as well, if she knows how terror has frozen him. Her ears flicker, flatten a little but that's the only movement between the two of them. He'll never make it, he knows, if he tries to run.

 

The cat leaps and Brendon closes his eyes.

__

-Jon smiling at him, laughing-

;                                -Blue waiting at Jon's feet in the kitchen-

-firelight reflected in amber eyes-

-fingers tracing the scars on his back-                                  

-Ryan laughing in the snow-

He needs more _time_.

*

Ryan can't get Jon's melody out of his head. He needs to talk to Brendon, show him the words he's written. He needs to do it _now_.

Letters crumple into one another, the parchment clutched in his hand as he goes searching.

*

Brendon feels something brush against his chest, but it's not from the direction that he expected. The momentum pushes him sideways and he lands hard in the snow. His eyes open to see Blue and the mountain lion rolling over and over in the snow, flashes of snapping jaws and razor sharp claws. Brendon shouts Blue's name in surprise.

Blue turns his eyes to him and barks once, sharp. Brendon watches in horror as four long slices appear across his shoulder. The wolf growls and turns back into the fray. Blood begins to stain the snow, the fight going so fast Brendon can barely follow it. He should run back, get Ryan, a rifle, anything, but he can't seem to move.

For all that the fight seems to last forever, it's over in a single instant - Blue latches onto the soft underside of the cat's jaw and in a spray of blood, it's laying still in the snow. Blue turns to Brendon then, namesake-eyes brilliant against the deep red stain of his muzzle. A soft sound resonates in his throat as he steps toward Brendon. He stumbles, legs clumsy, and Brendon whispers his name this time, soft across the snow.

Blue collapses.

It's like the world starts again to Brendon. He can hear the whistle of the wind through the trees, feel the cold seeping into his clothes, the stutter of his heart as he scrambles across the snow toward the injured animal. Faintly he hears a continuous chant of _nonononono_ before he realizes that it's his own voice. It's too scared to be his, too weak. There's so much blood, he can feel it slide along his skin as he curls his arms under Blue. Somehow Brendon struggles to his feet and staggers back towards the castle.

"Come on, boy, come on. We've got to get you back. Ryan'll fix you right up-" His voice breaks as Blue licks at his arm, "-come _on_."

It's taking too long. He can feel the wolf's heart beat against his skin, slowing.

"Dammit, Blue, you gotta hold on, okay? Who else is going to help Jon with breakfast, huh? And make Ryan laugh-" A sad whine and Brendon's legs nearly give out. He tightens his hold. "Please? Please, Blue, you have to hang on-"

He's not going to make it. Brendon can feel his arms trembling against the weight of the wolf, his skin slippery with blood. There's a wetness streaking his cheeks, his sight is starting to blur. Distantly he hears the way his voice is pleading, with the wolf, with anyone who will listen -

_Please hold on, just a little longer_.

*

He doesn't hear it at first.

"Brendon?"

When he looks up, it's to Ryan standing there, eyes wide. The wind is whipping his hair into his eyes and Brendon thinks inanely, _we need to cut his hair_. He shakes the thought away, taking another unsteady step forward.

"Brendon, what-?"

He can tell the exact moment that Ryan sees past the blood and cold, sees what he's holding. _Who_ he's holding. He watches golden eyes widen even further, watches the confusion slide into fear. Brendon wants to say something, but the words get caught as the wind carries the one word he's totally not expecting.

_Spencer_.

**

"That's not possible, Ryan!"

Ryan doesn't know how he's breathing, knows that if he tried to stand right now, his legs wouldn't hold him. He'd collapsed the second they'd made it to the music room, carrying Blue between them.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Brendon's voice cuts through the haze of _SpencerSpencerSpencer_ that's screaming through his mind at the moment. It cuts through, but he's not really listening. The hand squeezes tighter and Ryan swings around, knocking it away. He's surprised at the hoarseness of his voice when he snarls, "Either help me, Brendon-" another towel soaked through, "-or get the fuck out of the way."

The blood keeps flowing and Ryan wants to scream, but he's afraid he won't stop once he starts.

Ryan barely registers Brendon's knees hitting the floor beside him. It's not until Brendon makes this sound, this _noise_ that he finally looks up. Brendon's brown eyes are wide, caught with Blue's, with _Spencer's_. Ryan knows that Brendon believes him now.

Blood slides slick across his fingers and Spencer's eyes close.

"Spencer." Ryan can barely hear over the sound of his own heartbeat, pounding so loud in his ears. "Spencer, _please_." The wolf's chest is still rising, too slow between breaths. Ryan can fill something inside breaking, and he needs-

Jon. Ryan needs him; Jon makes everything slow down, always makes the noise in his head flow instead of crash. "Go find Jon," he snaps at Brendon, grabbing another towel. Instead, Brendon reaches out, gripping Ryan's forearm and whispers, "Ryan, stop."

"Dammit, Brendon-" Ryan tries to pull his arm back, "-go get Jon. Now!"

Brendon refuses to let go. Instead, sliding an arm around Ryan's chest. He tugs at Ryan, pulling him back. Away from the wolf, away from Spencer. Ryan struggles against the hold, cursing at Brendon. A whimper catches both their attention and when they look down, Spencer's eyes are once again open. This time, though, they're hazy, unfocused. The wolf's breathing is slow, laboured.

Dying.

Brendon tightens his hold and Ryan shouts at him, tries to twist out of his grip again. But Brendon just wraps his other arm around him and Ryan yells louder.

"What the hell is going-"

**

"-on?!"

Jon doesn't realize how hard his grip on the doorframe is until he lets go, until he can feel the ache in his fingers.

Both Ryan and Brendon's faces are lifted up towards him, but Jon can tell even from here that Ryan's not really seeing him. And Brendon-

Jon once swore that he'd do everything possible to never see the level of sorrow that's written so clearly across Brendon's face again.

"Jon," Ryan's voice is a whisper, so raw that his own throat aches at the sound. For a moment, Ryan's vision clears and he looks straight at Jon. Then his gaze drops and Jon's automatically follows.

His legs nearly give out.

"What-?" _There's so much blood_.

Brendon's voice breaks through, "He's. There was a, um, a mountain lion? By the edge of the forest. I shouldn't have gone. I know I shouldn't have gone by myself. But Blue-" Brendon's breath catches and Jon knows he's got his bottom lip caught between his teeth, knows without looking back up. Brendon doesn't continue.

Jon's watching when the last breath shudders out, when the body finally stills. He hears the low wail that Ryan releases and watches as Ryan sags back against Brendon, loose, like a doll whose strings have been cut. He slides down the wall, turning his head away.

"I'm sorry," Brendon chokes out on a whisper, "I didn't. Spencer. I, I didn't _know._ I'm so, so sorry."

Jon can't watch Brendon cry, he just can't. So he buries his face against his knees and lets his own tears soak into the material of his pants.

*

The sun goes down and with it, the temperature. At one point, Brendon attempts to move Ryan, but he refuses to leave. They fall asleep, eventually, and Jon watches until his own eyelids grow heavy, too heavy to keep open.

The room falls to darkness and Jon sleeps as well.

 

****

_When Ryan crawls under the table, it's already occupied by another child. For a moment he's certain it's a girl and ew, but then the other kid looks up. He's got the brightest blue eyes Ryan has ever seen, bluer than the summer sky even. He grins at Ryan and Ryan can't help but grin back._

_"Lookit what I found!" The boy holds his hands out, cupped together, toward Ryan. Cautious, he leans forward. Inside there's a tiny greenish brown frog. Ryan's eyes widen, he hasn't seen one outside of his books at home. It's pretty neat._

_"Wanna hold him?" Without waiting for an answer, he transfers the frog into Ryan's hands, guiding his hands gently closed so it doesn't jump away._

_"M'Spencer. Spencer James Smith," he raises one hand, fingers spread wide, "the Fifth!" One hand stays wrapped around Ryan's cupped hands as he asks, "What's your name?"_

_He can hear his father calling for him, voice faint in the distance. He's supposed to carry a stupid ring down to his silly cousin, but he doesn't want to do it. He wants to stay here._

_"Ryan, it's Ryan."_

****

 

Spencer wakes slowly. His body aches, the muscles stiff and sore. It comes back in a jumble of mismatched flashes of images, smells, tastes. Sheer terror. Fantastic pain. Ryan's screaming. Brendon's confusion. Jon's acceptance.

He can smell them, the briny sting of Ryan's tears, the stench of blood. He's cold, but warmth radiates from the bodies nearby. He can smell Jon not far, too far, away. Spencer wants to open his eyes, _needs_ to open them. His fingers ache to reach out, to _touch_.

There's sunlight on his face, he can feel the warmth of it, the brightness shines orange against the back of his eyelids.

He opens his eyes to light.

 

[_the beginning_]

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> [posted in main journal [here](http://prettykitty-aya.livejournal.com/308550.html) on 12/01/09]  
> [x-posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/bandslashmania/1499560.html) on 12/01/09 and [here](http://community.livejournal.com/songsandwords/81936.html) on 12/22/09]


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